NPR: The Little Pleasures

My Cancer

The Little Pleasures

It's all about the attitude. Sometimes in the chemo waiting room — not a happy place at the best of times — I can tell who's given up. You can see it in their faces, in their body language, even in their skin color. I don't blame them. God knows there have been days where I've felt like that. But I think that if you really do give up, then it's over.

Not that a good attitude is enough to cure you. It's not. But there is a sense among cancer patients that the disease is somehow sensitive to things like attitude. If you fight, then you have a better chance of winning.

Now I haven't given up. And I hope that my cancer cells die a slow and painful death. I want them to suffer. I hope they can sense that somehow. They deserve no mercy.

But what else can you do to better your odds? A lot of people talk about diet. No more red meat. Lots of raw foods or vegetables. One man wrote in to suggest that I eat a lot more soy. Beans, milk, and so on. While I appreciate his advice, (even he seemed less than enthusiastic about the taste of those things) I don't think I'm going to follow it.

I do exercise. I try to walk five miles several times a week. I do Tai Chi, which to my surprise, is less about being calm and all that, and more about beating people up. I didn't know that before I started taking classes.

But I'm not going to change my diet. Eating well is one of life's great pleasures. A great bottle of wine. A nice meal. A great big greasy cheeseburger. I'm not willing to give that up. Maybe it would be better for me healthwise if I did, but I'm not willing to give up any more of my life to the cancer. That's where I draw the line.

If someone told me that I would live another month if I never had a hot fudge sundae again, well, you can probably guess what my decision would be. Cancer takes so much away from all of us, but we have to hold on to the little pleasures. Because, let's face it, when you don't feel well because of the chemo and you're depressed about the future and you just want to scream, well, a hot fudge sundae or a cheeseburger or whatever your favorite food vice may be — those things can go a long way towards cheering you up. And they're also a reminder that our lives do go on. That we haven't lost everything.

I found that when I felt really nauseous from the chemo, chocolate helped calm my stomach. Okay, confession time. I'm a major chocaholic, so maybe I just used that as an excuse. But whatever the reason, I felt better.

So my advice is go ahead, indulge yourself. For those of you who are friends or loved ones of cancer patients, every once in a while, get them something that maybe you don't think they should have. They'll love you for it. And yes, I think I will have fries with that.

6:44 AM ET | 07- 6-2006 | permalink

comments | | e-mail

Comments

View all comments »

Add a Comment

Please note that all comments must adhere to the NPR.org discussion rules and terms of use. See also the Community FAQ.

I can't tell you how much your daily blog has comforted me. My husband was diagnosed with cancer in March of this year and just about every situation and emotion you have experienced has been shared by us. There is some comfort in this sharing and I can't thank you enough, especially because I know how difficult it must be to rehash it all - through the tears, I bet!

Sent by Jeri Magis | 11:03 AM ET | 07-06-2006

I heard one of your pieces on NPR and then came across the blog. Thank you for sharing your experiences with us all. My oncologist laughed when I told her I didn't mind losing my breasts, and I could live with the hair loss from chemo but that I really couldn't deal with chocolate tasting terrible during treatment. I was not joking, I felt robbed of one of my pleasures when I needed it most. I ate lots of spicy things to cover the chemo taste and my taste for chocolate has returned! Yes I am with you, I would have to choose the hot fudge sundaes too. Thanks again for saying the things many of us think but are not able to express so eloquently. LIVESTRONG

Sent by Elizabeth Hendrix | 11:11 AM ET | 07-06-2006

Leroy —

Just uncovered your blog and was so happy/sad to see it selfishly, I want to share in this with you. I, too, am a colon cancer survivor. Diagnosed on Womens Equality Day (Aug. 26, 2002) with Stage III, I almost immediately had the surgery and followed up with 6 months of chemo - that cocktail that was the Saltz regimen of the time. (Ironically, my life work is with women - and women don't yet realize that colon cancer is their enemy!) I like to say that I've been recuperating from the chemo ever since. I especially love your piece on courage. Isn't it funny that people always say that to us (almost in horror)? "You are so courageous." I always say that I'm not doing anything that they wouldn't do - to choose life. I shake my head at their lack of comprehension of their own daily courage. This particular thread always leads me to the thought that their own denial dictates this conversation with "us"...makes them feel more distant/separated from us. And isn't it odd that people seem to almost physically shrink when we have this discussion with "them"? After all, it is now "us" v. "them", sad to say. I want to ask you: are you aware that there is a growing national advocacy group for colorectal cancer? It's to be found at c-three.org. You'll find all the most recent information specifically about colorectal and its most current treatments and trials. Theres also our beloved COLON list — at ACOR.org. On that listserv there are about 1000 people worldwide who share their "experience, strength, and hope" with the list. It really does help. You'll find a dedicated group there!! I'm so glad that I happened to find your blog. Please don't stop; it helps more people than you know. Keep talking and telling!

My Best,

Erika Hanson Brown

Sent by Erika Brown | 2:16 PM ET | 07-06-2006

Uncanny: Here's a post from my husband's blog from the day after Thanksgiving 2004, a month after his diagnosis. The last line has a certain resonance, I think.

"At the end of The Polar Express, the conductor tells the young protagonist that it doesn't matter where the train is going - what matters is deciding whether to board.

I think that misses it. We don't always get to choose the ride, just what we do while we're traveling.

Might as well enjoy the scenery and chat with my seat-mates. I can't drive the train, but I can make the most of the ride. Yes, I would like some refreshments from the club car. Thanks."

Sent by Judith Trott Guy | 2:34 PM ET | 07-06-2006

"Little Pleasures" - beautifully written. I finished my colon cancer regimen at the end of this past March, and I relate totally with what you wrote about those wonderful pleasures that define our personal lives. For me it was special food cravings and music from the local 70s music station - positive emotional triggers

that counteracted the effects of chemo for me. They carried me away to a happy place.

A dear friend is currently going through her own struggle with cancer. I'm sending her your writings about your cancer experiences to inspire her. I tip my bar of Trader Joe's Belgian Chocolates and an industrial size Tootsie Roll to you, Leroy Sievers.

As we say back in my home town, "Mahalo nui loa!" Thank you VERY much....

Sent by Mark Quiming | 2:36 PM ET | 07-06-2006

I don't have cancer. It's the scariest disease ever. That's why I'm participating in a 3-day/60-mile walk in support of breast cancer research because breast cancer affects both men and women, but mostly women.

It's the least I can do as my small contribution to something so large.

Right now I'm in training - walking evenings and weekends to prepare myself for this challenging journey where I will meet wonderful people who either have cancer now, have had cancer or who know someone close to them who has had cancer.

Please help me reach my goal of raising $2200.00 by logging onto www.the3day.org to make a donation.

Thank you so very much.

Toni

Sent by Toni Pollitz | 2:38 PM ET | 07-06-2006

We are a village of unrelated strangers who have a commonality. We have the surgeries and take the chemo and then live the side effects and results. We're not any braver than any other human beings; we just want to live and whichever decision we make about treatment is still a statement for our lives. I hate the cancer but am comforted by others who've been there as I can say stuff like, "I hate the cancer in my life," or "I'm going to have my cup of coffee anyway," or "I'm scared to stop the chemo and scared to keep doing it," and "Will I ever be able to say I'm cancer free?" and have a knowing nod in agreement. I wonder sometimes if having cancer is like being an alcoholic, "Hello, my name is Louana. . .and I have cancer." "Hello Louana." I too will eat what pleases me—I've always taken care of how I eat and I still got cancer—no guarantees out there folks.

Sent by Louana George | 2:40 PM ET | 07-06-2006

Your column resonates greatly with me today, in many ways. I am a great believer in attitude and the whole mind-body connection dynamic...someone "giving up" however, has the sound of having done something wrong. Some people do "give up," I suppose maybe the disease was just too much for them, however, maybe there was just too much on their plate to "keep up the attitude." Maybe people get to that place where they make a strange kind of "peace" and decide that they have come to the end of their own particular journey. In any case, keep up the good, thought-provoking work. My connection has been with people with HIV/AIDS which, while now they are living longer, they still die and many are often young. There is still the memory of my dearest, most beloved friend dying in my arms....20 years ago this August.

Be well. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Sent by Sandra Yudilevich | 11:37 AM ET | 07-07-2006

Amen! When I was diagnosed Stage III, I read everything I could on fighting cancer...one of the big things was no alcohol, no red meat, no fun.

I am working on eating well, but not having the simply pleasures of a glass of wine or a good burger, I just can't do it.

I thought to myself, If I die in 6 months, will I be bummed that I didnt have that hamburger or beer when I really wanted one?

So I quote Warren Zevon, "Enjoy every sandwich" and don't hold the MAYO!!

Sent by Janis | 4:09 PM ET | 07-10-2006

Thanks, man. Thanks for your candor and your courage. My dearest relative is fighting this disease and your words help me understand. May God bless you for the blessing you are to people like me.

Sent by Mike | 9:35 AM ET | 07-11-2006

Some of us come through this cancer experience with our guard still up, ready to line up any arsenal that we can. I guess that's how I view conforming to special and/or restictive diets as a means to prevent a recurrence. After breast cancer, I decided to do what I can to live well every day. On some days that does include my ice cream! And not to partake in some favorite familty traditions is just not included in the definition of a life lived well! It really is a crap shoot as I see it! Enjoy the moments we have. Be strong and live well!

Sent by Linda | 9:40 AM ET | 07-11-2006

E-mail this Page

Recipient's e-mail address:	» Up to twelve addresses, separated by commas.
Your e-mail address:
Your name:
Personal message (optional, 600 characters max):
Your NPR member station:
Are you a member of your local NPR station?	Yes No
Would you like to receive information from your local NPR member station? (see NPR's privacy policy)	Yes No
Please send me updates from NPR.	Yes No

(Information collected by NPR will be used solely for internal NPR or NPR member station purposes and only if you selected 'yes' above. See NPR's privacy policy for more information.)

E-mail |
Print

Leroy Sievers

Blogger

Leroy Sievers in the Ted Koppel Documentary

Leroy Sievers speaks with Dr. Christos Georgiades. Credit: Tyrone Turner

A Ted Koppel documentary focuses on his friend Leroy Sievers' "My Cancer" blog and the response it evokes.

About 'My Cancer'

A journalist for more than 25 years, Leroy Sievers worked at CBS News, the Discovery Channel, and ABC News, where he was the executive producer of Nightline. He wrote this blog daily until his death in August.